


What It Is

by EnduringChill



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: 221B Baker Street, Apologies, Episode: s04e02 The Lying Detective, Fix-It of Sorts, Fluff, Hugs, M/M, POV Sherlock Holmes, Pining, Pining Sherlock, Pre-Slash, saving John Watson
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-11
Updated: 2017-01-11
Packaged: 2018-09-16 19:02:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 677
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9285692
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EnduringChill/pseuds/EnduringChill
Summary: This was a scene that popped into my head a few hours after watching The Lying Detective. This is the bit that I imagine might be scattered on the cutting rom floor. That moment from when Sherlock gathered John in his arms to when they decided to get birthday cake.An attempt at a fix-it or offering for S04E02.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Mary_Jane221B](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mary_Jane221B/gifts), [fruit_bat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fruit_bat/gifts), [Callie4180](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Callie4180/gifts), [221BJen (jcoz1701)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jcoz1701/gifts).



> I know this scene will be reimagined and expanded by many writers. In fact by much better authors than myself. I still felt compelled to write this. I hope it offers some happiness or a bridge or a smile or warm fuzzies. 
> 
> Thank you to those who encouraged me and offered some thoughts or helped shape the words: Callie4180, 221bjen, fruitbat, Mary_Jane221b. The constancy of your friendship and encouragement means more than I can express.

“No, but it is what it is.”

_ And it's love. Unconditional love.  _ Sherlock thought as his hand slipped across John’s shoulder to rest on the back of his neck to hold him tenderly. As John sunk against his chest, Sherlock pressed his cheek into John’s incredibly soft hair. He took a deep breath and filled his mind with the scent of John; linen, sweat and Tesco baby shampoo. Clearly, John avoided using any soaps or shampoos that reminded him of Mary.

John’s tears soaked through the silk dressing gown and seeped into Sherlock’s shirt. The silent cry turned into a body shaking sob. John’s arms unwound from himself to wrap around Sherlock’s frail body. He took fistfuls of the dressing gown to prevent slumping to the floor. Sherlock resisted his desire to press a kiss into John’s hair. Rather, he willed away the urge to wince against his bruises from John’s blows in the morgue and folded his other arm around John’s shoulders.

_ This is good. He needs this.  _ Sherlock felt the rage and guilt seep into his own weary muscles. He blinked against the prickling in his eyes, but soon found his own sallow cheeks damp. For someone who had spent a lifetime avoiding emotional situations, Sherlock had been wrung out in the span of weeks. Every nerve in his body hummed like frayed wires. 

John sniffled loudly. “Don't you start or we’ll never stop.”

Sherlock would not mind if this embrace lasted longer; forever even. He had never felt starved for touch, but with John’s solid arms entangled in his own, he ached for more. Guilt stabbed his chest like the scalpel he had grasped twenty four hours ago.

Against John’s soft hair, Sherlock nodded gently. “Sorry, I'm a bit out of sorts with desire for a fix and what not.” He cleared his throat.

He felt John’s chest expand and contract, expand and contract as he took a few deep breaths. The grip on his gown slipped, and Sherlock knew the moment was coming to an end. He waited to feel John move away before he loosened his embrace.

“I'm sorry.” John’s voice cracked.

Sherlock squeezed John’s shoulder affectionately. “We're both grieving….many things.”

John bit his lower lip, his eyes scanned Sherlock’s bruised face. “I shouldn’t have lost control like that. You didn’t deserve that.”

“I was about to kill a man, who while deserving, probably not my call to make.” Sherlock swallowed the dry lump in his throat.

John smiled, faintly. “It's been a long year, hasn't it?”

The corner of Sherlock's mouth quirked up. “There is Rosie. Remember that.”

John wiped the tears from his cheek with the back of his hand. “Yes. I need to see her.” He lifted his eyes to meet Sherlock’s. “You too. You should see her.”

“Soon, once I get myself together. I'm not well right now.” Sherlock blinked at the shame that threatened to well up in his eyes. “But I vo-” Sherlock stopped short. “I will be. Soon.”

John stepped out of Sherlock's arms. “Good. I have missed you.”

“The sentiment is shared, John,” he replied with a soft smile.

John stretched his arms in front of him to shake off the lingering emotional electricity between them. “So, your birthday. We should do something, right? Cake?”

“I suppose a sugar high will have to suffice.” He paused a beat. “However I don't think we should make it a rum cake.”

John nodded tightly. “Probably best for the both of us.” He pulled his phone out. “I'll have Molly meet us then?”

“That would be...very nice, John.” Sherlock felt the warmth of the sun glint through the dusty windows of Baker Street. He slipped the dressing gown from his shoulders. “Maybe Thai tomorrow night?” He worried that he sounded too hopeful, bordering on desperate.

John glanced up from his phone, something familiar and brilliant flashed in his eyes. And there it was, the first genuine smile Sherlock had seen from John in a very long time, even before Mary died. “Thai sounds great, Sherlock.”


End file.
